


Game Over

by bananaquit



Series: Partners in Crime AU [4]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M, Partners in Crime au, Trans Fiddleford H. McGucket
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 09:59:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12702540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananaquit/pseuds/bananaquit
Summary: He suddenly felt the cold metal muzzle of a gun press against the back of his neck. “On the contrary, my six-fingered-firestarter. I think it’s game over for you.” spoke a cool voice behind him. “Make one move and you die.”Ford hadn’t expected his day to go this way, but he was starting to learn that living this kind of life meant there was a surprise around every corner.





	Game Over

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Inkblot9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkblot9/gifts).



> TW FOR SUICIDAL THOUGHTS AND ACTIONS

Ford cocked his pistol with a click and aimed it directly at the man’s forehead. “Game’s over, bastard. Tell me where he is!” Ford yelled. The man, pressed against the concrete wall of the abandoned warehouse, trembled, putting his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I said _now_ , you son of a bitch!” Ford took a step closer. “Three… two… one…”

He suddenly felt the cold metal muzzle of a gun press against the back of his neck. “On the contrary, my six-fingered-firestarter. I think it’s game over for you.” spoke a cool voice behind him. “Make one move and you die.”

Ford hadn’t expected his day to go this way, but he was starting to learn that living this kind of life meant there was a surprise around every corner. Ford, despite Fiddleford’s constant chiding, hadn’t slept at all night before, instead opting to stay up and study his spellbooks. As Fiddleford had predicted, he was exhausted in the morning. Fiddleford had insisted he stay behind in the van to get some sleep while Fidds went out and got some breakfast. Ford had offered to come with, but Fiddleford told him it would be a low-level robbery, that he’d be fine.

That had turned out to be a lie when the small device attached to Ford’s wrist had startled him awake with a loud beep. It was his emergency locater, a compact device that was paired with Fiddleford’s. Fiddleford had created them a few weeks ago, but they hadn’t needed to be put to use until now. Ford had tracked the distress beacon to the warehouse where he was currently standing, staring at a balding forty-something with a scruffy black mustache and a paint-stained t-shirt who he’d _thought_ was responsible for whatever happened to his friend.

However, he now suspected the man who was pressing a gun to the back of his head was the true culprit. His voice was too steely and sly to be anything other than the leader of whatever demented operation had brought him here.

“Shoot me, then.” Ford replied. He whirled around and a loud bang echoed through the empty room as the man tried to retaliate. There was a blue flash of light as the protective amulet Ford wore around his neck did its job and deflected his assailant’s bullet. Ford came face-to-face with a tall, fiery redhead. The man had a stocky build for his height, a mop of ragged ginger hair, and a decent smattering of freckles. He was dressed in an odd combination of dirty sneakers, a ratty t-shirt, light denim overalls, and frayed black blazer.

Ford he tried to level his pistol with the man’s head and fire, but arms wrapped around him from behind and wrenched the gun from his hands. They belonged to the man he’d been threatening earlier. The supposed henchman quickly tossed the gun to the side before grabbing both of Ford’s hands and pinning them behind his back. Ford struggled in the man’s grip. “Plodo tumesti praemi-”

“You start muttering your wizard gibberish and your boyfriend gets it.” Mr. Head Honcho’s icy voice cut Ford off in middle of spellcasting as he took a smooth, purposeful step toward him.

“He’s not my bo- you’re responsible for this, aren’t you? Who do you think you are?” Ford yelled.

“I’d ask you the same question,” the man countered, taking another step closer. “Burning bridges, _robbing banks…_ I’ve been watching you, hellboy.”

“Where’s Fiddleford?” Ford growled. “What do you want from me?”

“You ruined me, Pines. Now you owe me a favor.”

Ford let out a sigh as the man was opening his mouth to speak again. “Look, can we skip all the vague monologuing and get right to the point? I’ve ruined a lot of people, you’re going to have to be more specific.”

“The name’s Ronnie. You robbed my bank and blew it to smithereens. Here’s the deal. You’re going to give me enough compensation to repay everything I lost that day or I’m going to kill your buddy back there, then you. Got it?”

Ford bared his teeth and narrowed his eyes. He’d been in a situation similar to this before, but he’d learned from experience that people didn’t generally make good on their threats. Their consciences usually prevented them from actually doing anything to kill either one of them. Ford and his friend suffered from no such moral dilemmas. “Dolorum fluctus inaria populum afficit!” Ford shouted. The hands keeping him in place loosened as the men both before him and behind doubled over, clutching their stomachs as a wave of pain passed through them.

“Sorry, no time.” Ford spoke, grabbing his gun from where it had come to rest on the floor a few feet away. “Things to do, places to burn, people to kill, you know.”

“That was a mistake.” Ronnie grumbled through the pain. Before Ford could react, he pulled a walkie-talkie from his overalls and pressed a button on it. “Do it.”

That was when Ford heard a gunshot and _scream. Fiddleford’s_ scream. Ford froze. _No._

“You took everything from me. I gave you a chance to listen and you didn’t, so now I’m taking everything from you.”

Ford raised the gun and shot him in the head, point blank. Blood painted the concrete as Ronnie slumped to the ground. Ford whirled around to point the gun at the other man. “WHERE IS HE!?” Ford shouted, knowing he didn’t have much time.

The man pointed to the doorway to his left and fearfully whispered a few instructions. Ford ran through the doorway without hesitation, tearing up the stairs with a speed he didn’t even know he possessed. He burst onto the next level to find a group of five men standing around a pillar to which Fiddleford was chained. They turned to face Ford as he entered, raising their guns and firing. As before, the bullets were magically deflected by the glittering blue gemstone bouncing against his rust-colored sweater.

“Leave him alone.” Ford barked. Two of the men were doing something to Fiddleford and three of them were shooting at him and couldn’t see if he was injured or not and what if he was dead and it was all his fault and tears were blurring his vision and no no no no-

 

* * *

 

He was standing on the roof of the dorm hall, staring down at the concrete stories below him. One step. One step was all it would take. One step and he’d be dead and he wouldn’t have to worry about any of this anymore. Then they’d be sorry. They’d all be sorry. Stanley, Ma, Pa, Crampelter, that dumb kid who had pushed him against the wall after orientation and given him the black eye that still throbbed with pain.

He didn’t know what he’d expected, really. Some stupid part of him had hoped that maybe things would be different when he got here, even if Backupsmore itself was a shitty school. But hope, as he knew, was foolish. He’d only been here a few hours and he’d already been singled out. No matter where in the world he went, he’d always be hated. Ford looked at his shaking hands, curling and uncurling his twelve ugly, deformed fingers. Tears dripped from his eyes and onto his palms.

He stared at the fractured sunset behind the cracked lenses of his glasses. The orange light made the autumn leaves on the trees scattered throughout campus light up like a million tiny flames. Ford briefly wondered how his parents would react to his death. They’d probably tell their friends it was a terrible accident, he figured. Their perfect son would never act out, let alone commit suicide.

The word “coward” rang in his head over and over. A coward’s escape, that’s what his dad had called it. “What are you, a coward? Too scared to fight back?” said his dad during boxing lessons, said Crampelter, said the boy who’d bloodied his nose just hours ago. They were all the same entity, their voices mixing into one.

No, he decided. He was not a coward. He was finally going to do something for himself. Finally going to stand up to his father, to the bullies. Punish them for hurting him, for driving him over the edge. Pa would have no son to bring in money, Crampelter would have to live with the guilt, and the nameless boy wouldn’t have anyone left to pick on.

If killing himself meant he was a coward, so be it. But in Ford’s mind, he was finally going to be brave. So with that thought, he took a deep breath in and prepared to step off the ledge.

That was when he heard footsteps behind him. He couldn’t help but turn to look at the approaching stranger. A lanky brunette with an odd light streak in his hair, rounded spectacles, and a lighter in hand approached him, a slight smirk on his face as he lit a blunt and raised it to his lips.

“Just came up here to have a smoke, I hope you don’t mind no-” the stranger started to drawl, a lilting southern accent in his voice. He stopped dead when he noticed the tears shining on Ford’s reddened face and the black bruise that covered his right eye. “A-am I interrupting somethin’? You alright, friend?” he asked, pocketing the lighter and blowing a puff of smoke.

“Yes! Yes, you are!” Ford yelled, pointing aggressively at the thinner man, his other fist clenched at his side. “G-go away!” His voice faltered as he choked out a sob. “You are _not_ my _friend_ . Y-you… don’t even know me!” He turned back to the edge and took a step over and suddenly a hand was grabbing the back of his sweater and pulling him back to safety and he was spinning around and wide blue eyes were meeting his own and he was so dizzy and he couldn’t think and he just wanted it to _end_.

“ _Woah!_ ” the man exclaimed, his voice an octave higher than it was before, the exclamation riddled with shaky cracks. “L-let’s talk about this, o-okay? There’s no need to get hasty, now.”

Ford crumbled to his knees at the boy’s feet, finally releasing a mix between a scream and a sob. His vision blurred with teardrops. He cried for all the times he couldn’t before, for all the times he’d been called “freak”, all the times his dad had hit him, every moment that he’d bottled up for years upon years.

Ford wanted to shout and tell him he had no business stopping him. He wanted to be angry and defensive, but he couldn’t. He was too exhausted to do anything but tremble as this stranger, this person he didn’t even _know_ knelt down and wrapped him in a gentle but awkward hug. A hand softly patted Ford’s back as he wheezed and wept into the fabric of the boy’s button-up.

“I got you, buddy.” the man Ford now knew as Fiddleford had whispered. Fiddleford had sat there on the roof with him until he’d cried himself out enough to be able to form a coherent sentence. And Ford had done something no one else had let him do, something that he didn’t even know he’d _wanted_ to do until that moment: he’d _talked_.

He’s spilled everything he’d ever locked away inside into the cool fall air. Fiddleford had sat there and listened. That was the day Ford had realized he wasn’t alone in this world, that he wasn’t the only freak stuck at that sad, subpar excuse for a university. After he’d shown him his fingers and Fiddleford had pulled up his shirt to reveal a set of twin pink scars on his chest.

 

* * *

 

All Ford could think about now was the fact that Fiddleford had _saved_ him that afternoon. And now it might be too late to return the favor.

“LEAVE. HIM. ALONE.” Ford’s voice boomed, echoing throughout the empty warehouse. He raised his gun and closed his eyes. “Proecto ad arma ledo-” Magical green energy began to spiral around him, traveling down his arms, through his hands, and into the gun, enveloping the weapon in a bright aura.

And then the amulet _shattered_ as a bullet hit it head-on. The enchanted gem cracked and flew from its metallic casing, the gold chain that held it in place around his neck snapping and clattering to the floor beside the pendant. Ford didn’t even flinch as the men raised their guns again, ready to fire now that he was defenseless. He uttered the final word of the spell just a jolt of pain wracked his body. “-scuta.”

Then he fired his gun. Time seemed the slow down as the glowing bullet left the barrel and split into five pieces in the blink of an eye, each separate piece of shrapnel picking a different path across the room. They pierced the hearts of the five cronies in unison and the men crumpled to the ground like limp ragdolls.

“Fiddleford!” Ford cried, sprinting toward his best friend.

“Stanford!” Fiddleford shouted in overjoyed reply. Ford was overwhelmed to see that Fiddleford has no apparent injuries as he continued to close the gap between them. He was okay! Ford ignored the pain searing through him, the sticky liquid leaking out onto his skin, the tears in his eyes as he threw his arms around him. Before he knew what he was doing, he pressed his lips against Fiddleford’s. The logical part of his brain was ignored, trumped by the happiness he felt to see his friend again, safe and unharmed.

Ford pulled back, his head spinning. “Are you hurt?” he asked, afraid he’d missed something. Wasting no time, he placed his hands on the chains binding Fiddleford and began muttering a spell under his breath while he awaited a response.

“Nope!” Fiddleford piped as the chains dropped to the floor. He reached inside the pocket of his jeans and produced a silvery metal rectangle. “Had my particle field with me, guys were tryin’ to find it ‘n get it off me when you came up here. Practically impenetrable.” He beamed. “Just screamed ‘cause I was startled, apologize for scarin’ ‘ya.”

Ford put a hand on each side of his face, unable to stop the cathartic tears still rolling down his cheeks. “Fidds, I’m so sorry, I never should have let you go out alo-”

“You couldn’t have known, it’s alright. Buncha guys just jumped on me outta nowhere, my fault I went underprepared an- you’re hurt!”

Ford followed Fiddleford’s gaze down to his leg to see his pants soaking with blood. “Oh,” he deadpanned, having forgotten all about the pain in his daze. Suddenly everything caught up in his mind, including- oh, shit. He’d just… he’d just _kissed_ Fiddleford. “Listen, about the, um, what I just did there, I’m-”

He was cut off when Fiddleford dug his fingers into the collar of his turtleneck and gave him a quick kiss. “That doesn’t matter right now.” Before he could protest, Fiddleford lifted him into his arms and began the walk out. “We gotta get you some help. Jesus. Only Stanford Pines would think a kiss is more important than a literal bullet wound. If I didn’t love ‘ya so much, I’d be finishing the goddamn job right about now.”

“I love you, too.” Ford murmured, leaning his head against Fiddleford’s shoulder as he let his partner in crime carry him to safety.


End file.
